"We'll take care of that later," said Nathan. "We've come to get the other three. Then we'll settle who is to keep them, as well as the matter of my father's murder. I mention it because I thought some of you gentlemen might help us. In fact, you might have one or more of the Jewels right here in this room. We'll be glad to relieve you of them."
There was a dangerous trick with a flame lance that Nathan had learned from his father. The flame could be made to reflect from a wooden surface if the angle of incidence and the intensity of the beam were just right.
Nathan had watched the play building up in the circle about him. It was almost ready to go. Behind Tompkins, one of the spacemen had carefully drawn his flame lance. Nathan knew it by the slow movement of the man's shoulders and his attempts to keep his eyes carelessly forward.
Tompkins was keeping close against the man, one arm on the edge of the bar. In a moment the point of the lance would appear at Tompkins' waist and blast—as soon as Nathan's attention was turned away from Tompkins.
Carefully, Nathan weighed his chances. He had about a fifty-fifty chance of coming out alive. He wondered just why Firebird had devised such a trap. Right now she was sitting alone at a table on the opposite side of the room, apparently not paying any attention to what was going on.
He gauged his distance from the killer and moved a step closer to Tompkins while draining his glass. Then he swung suddenly away, turning his back on Tompkins. In the faces of the men surrounding him he could see the sudden change of expression, which they could not hide.
He called the bartender. "Fill up again, Louey. All around. I feel lucky tonight."
Simultaneously, his hand dropped carelessly to his side and twisted the pocket of his flame lance to point the electrode behind him. His little finger locked around the trigger and pressed.
A sharp scream arose from behind Tompkins and a flame lance clattered to the floor. Nathan whirled. Both his lances were in front of him when he faced Tompkins.
But Tompkins was staring down at the dead killer. And he was searching frantically for the source of the shot. Then his glance fell on the charred wood of the front of the bar where Nathan's reflection shot had turned.